𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒 ᶜᵐ

11 ┃ 𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐚́𝐧𝐝𝐨

━ ⭒─⭑━

Wandering through Encanto, your eyes fixate on the ground, each step a mechanical motion rather than a conscious choice. The voices have reached a crescendo, an overwhelming cacophony that screams and shouts, begging for your help, relentless in their pursuit for attention. No matter how hard you try to shut them out, their presence is a constant ebb and flow of noise, now louder than ever, only to fall into eerie silence for fleeting moments, moments that grow shorter with each passing day.

During one such moment of silence, you find yourself on the outskirts of town, dragging your feet, a shadow of your former self. Your father's worry has deepened, a mirror to Camilo's concern, which has transformed into outright alarm, adding another layer of weight to your burdened shoulders. He notices the subtle flinches, the distant look in your eyes that often darts to unseen threats, and the shadows that cling to the edges of your vision. Despite his probing, you push away his questions, a barrier built of false assurances, unwilling to voice the fears that consume you.

A heavy sigh escapes you, the decision to head back home weighing on your mind, knowing your father is likely out on another of his deliveries. Just as you take a step toward the familiar path home, a sharp sensation pierces your head, a harbinger of the voices' imminent return. Tears well in your eyes, your hands tremble uncontrollably, and your breath becomes rapid and shallow in panic. "I can't do this. I can't do this," you whisper to yourself, a mantra of despair.

Without conscious thought, your feet carry you to the one place that has always offered a fragment of peace—your secret spot, a secluded nook cradled by the tall tree Isabela grew in memory of your mother. Shielded from the world by the long, flowing vines cascading from the branches above, you collapse at its base, your small form enveloped by nature's embrace.

Your body shakes uncontrollably as the voices escalate, their demands piercing through the fragile peace.

"Please, let me tell my family that I love them!"

"My husband deserves to know what his sister did to me!"

"Help us... Help us... HELP US!!"

"I can't. I can't. I can't," you trembled as you covered your ears in hopes of drowning them out, but it was no use.

Just as you're about to succumb to the overwhelming despair, a sudden grip on your shoulders jolts you, and you brace for the familiar mockery of a spirit's deception. Instead, a voice cuts through the chaos, clear and unmistakably real. "Hey, Y/N. Calm down. Please, calm down. I'm here."

Cautiously, you open your eyes, meeting two pools of green filled with worry.

Your heart wants to believe it's truly him, but your mind rebels, scarred by too many deceptions; too many times than you could count, you found yourself in a similar predicament, yet when you allowed yourself to relax, you found that instead of really being someone you cared for, it was just a spirit playing jokes.

Flinching back, you shook your head, "No. No. No. You aren't real. You aren't real. You aren't real," you chant, body curling in on yourself as you expected a spirit's mocking laughter to follow.

Yet, the laughter never comes. Instead, you feel two hands cover the ones you held over your ears.

They were...warm...a sensation both unfamiliar and comforting.

Spirits have never possessed warmth; their touch has always been a cold reminder of their otherness.

Slowly, your breathing steadies under his touch, and you dare to lift your gaze, allowing yourself to truly see him.